Page 53 of Cries of Cassie

I raise my hand, stuffing down the antisocial beast and empathizing with him. "I'm asking because I know your old lady is having a tough time." Miranda was triggered severely by the spy Victor sent. At only twenty-five, Tank's old lady is still working through very recent traumas unrelated to club life.

He opens his mouth, but I cut my brother off. I don't like the determination in his eyes only because I'm convinced it's for me and not his wife. "Tank, brother," I say, grabbing his shoulder and truly trying to be human with him. "I asked if you can manage, because if you can't, I need to know who to direct instead."

"You'll strip me of my⁠—"

Growling, I pull him in for a back-slapping hug. "Don't finish that sentence. You know that's not how we work." I step away. "Now push the feelings aside and tell me...can you be my enforcer for this war, or am I pulling Bash up for this circumstance?"

I can see the battle between his mind and heart. It's incredibly interesting to recognize for once. Normally, I'm completely removed from the day-to-day struggles, but since Cassie has come into my life for good, I think I'm evolving.

"Don't ask me if you'll still be Sergeant at Arms if you sit this out for your woman. You will, and you'll hold all the respect of the club for it."

Tank closes his eyes and hangs his head before looking at me with a newfound determination that doesn't worry me. "Even if you stripped me of my rank, I'd still tell you I can't leave her. I can't choose violence over her. Miranda's panic attacks are far too frequent for me to be comfortable leaving her, especially because she won't let anyone but me close."

"Understood," I acknowledge and clap his shoulder. "Your task for now is getting Bash up to speed. Send Miranda our love."

I'm about five feet away when Tank calls my name. I turn to see a small smile on his face. "Starlight is good for you."

"Starlight?" Did he get her last name wrong? It's Sterling.

Tank frowns, cocking his head as if he can't figure me out. "Cassie. Haven't you heard? The Shadows gave her a road name. She brings light and hope in the darkness, right?"

Well, fuck. "It fits," I croak, immediately turning away before I show even more emotion. Watching Cassie shuffle into the garage with a slight limp in her step makes me smile. We did that. Treated her so well she can't walk right.

Time to fix our shit so our woman knows what it's like to have our full attention.

Chapter Thirty-One

Cassie

I'm calling time of death on my ability to function normally. I've already made a chiropractor appointment for this afternoon, thankfully. Unfortunately, I have no idea how the hell I'm going to get there without telling the guys what's wrong.

I definitely kinked my neck last night, limiting my ability to turn my head. That has to be the most infuriating part of my EDS. Nothing ruins my mood more than a pissed off neck.

"Shit," I hiss, losing my balance on a rock just enough to remind me I extended my hips too far last night too. Kinky, but really fucking uncomfortable.

I need to tell them. I've learned how to manage my syndrome, but if the guys knew, they could help. There's just the pesky voice in my head telling me I shouldn't ask for help. It could make them view me as weak.

Gingerly, I make my way to the garage. Hopefully Ticket will have something for me to do. I'd love to sit on the ground and tinker with a bike for a bit. Maybe not talk to anyone and just zone out.

Yesterday was a lot. I'm still battling the overwhelming amount of feelings and information my guys shared.

My guys.

They're mine.

A smile tugs my lips up as the scent of oil and leather tickles my nose. Everything almost feels right. I just wish I felt better.

"Hey honey," Ticket greets, walking over to me as he wipes his hands on a rag. "You okay?"

Damn observant, protective men everywhere I turn. I love it even if it doesn't bode well for me. "I'm fine. Just tired. Can you point me in the direction of an easy job?"

Ticket eyes me, taking in my pinched features and even goes as far as to check out my shifting stance. Damn it. Hopefully he'll think I got fucked really good last night and am simply sore.

"Sit there, I'll wheel Coin's bike over to you," he grouches, clearly not wanting to put me to work but doing it anyway because I asked. Smiling at his retreating form, I hustle over to the shop stool, excited to get off my feet.

Bad idea. Never hustle on sore hip joints. Tears immediately spring to my eyes as I brace myself on a tool bench before my muscle completely spasms out of control.

"What's wrong?!" Because of course Parker would see me stumble.